A Song is a Letter
by Woodrokiro
Summary: Not only did he wake her up at 5 in the morning; no, it HAD to be the morning of their wedding day. What was he doing here? SoulMaka, spoilers for ch 30-37; K Plus for one bit of language


Disclaimer: I would _like_ to own Soul Eater; but unfortunately... I don't.

Enjoy! :)

.(B).

She is woken by a gentle (yet nonetheless annoying) shake on her shoulder and a deep voice whispering her name. The nineteen year old groggily looks at the clock next to her bed: 5:00 in the morning. Maka slurs sleepily, explaining that yes Papa, she _did_ want to marry Soul, she was _not_ going to run away with Papa to some faraway place, and he had to let her sleep because she needed her rest for the wedding today.

"It's me", the deep voice answers gruffly, and Maka, upon realizing who it is, opens her eyes to see her fiancé leaning over her, hand still lightly gripping her shoulder.

Suddenly alert, she gives him the all too familiar "Maka-Chop" causing him to yelp in pain and jump back.

"The hell was that for?" He questions while his fingers reach up to rub the bump on his head.

"You idiot! The groom isn't supposed to see the bride until the wedding!" , she hisses, eyes flashing dangerously, "You're supposed to be at Black Star's apartment for tonight. This is bad luck!"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "That kind of superstition is just something a bunch of old geezers made up. Besides," his voice drops bashfully, "Nothing about us can ever be considered bad luck."

She is geniounly touched by the comment, and relaxes before he adds, hand slowly reaching toward her, "Come on. I want you to hear something."

Her brow is drawn in confusion, but takes his hand regardless. She feels his soul waves beckoning her, asking her to join him. She does.

.(C).

When Maka lets her eyes drift open, she is hit with some sort of deja vu. They are in a room that has black paneled walls, with red and equally black tiled floors. There is a plush, maroon velvet chair in a corner, next to a desk with an old record player on top. Matching red curtains drape the room, though there are no windows. A single lamp illuminates the place. It is exactly what it looked like back when they first danced, except for one large difference.

The imp that once plagued his mind is nowhere to be found.

His tall body is clothed in a suit, only this time is not pinstripe, but completely black with a white colored shirt underneath. She herself is wearing a long, strapless gown. It is made of fine white silk with matching lace covering the material, with a light blue sash around her waist tied into an elegant bow at the back.

She recognizes it as her wedding dress.

His hand, so much larger and warmer than her dainty one, is still firmly wound around hers. His thumb lightly runs over the proud diamond he had given her, and it sparkles playfully. She smiles softly to herself.

He begins to walk swiftly toward a door at the end, pulling her along with him. His palm, she notes, is also a little sweaty, and there is a barely noticeable tremor in his gait. He opens the door, and she gives a small gasp.

They are somewhere full of light and infinite space. There is nothing except a heavy oak chair and a piano. However, it is not black this time, but of a creamy hue.

"Sit down." His head motions to the chair, and she releases his hand to do as she's told.

Cracking his knuckles, he takes his own seat on the stool before the piano. He mumbles about how he's not sure whether it's going to be that good; it was a new piece he had written, so she shouldn't hold that high of expectations. They both know the last part said is useless: she's never held anything _but_ high expectations for him, as it's the same way he feels about her.

His fingers hover over the keyboard, and she sits up rigidly, waiting in suspense.

... The sound that comes forth from the instrument is beautiful, she really couldn't have expected anything less. It is heart-wrenching, yet at the same time it makes her feel such joy that she wants to cry.

His back is to her, so she can't see his face, but she can imagine it: his eyes are open just enough to see his fingers drift from key to key, his breathing slow and steady, the muscles of his face relaxed. She imagines he looks... _at peace_. Like he was visiting with an old friend.

It seems like a blissful eternity, until only one finger is holding down the key, and the last note is fading into the nothingness surrounding them.

There is a brief silence that lasts about five seconds, before he gets up and spins to face her. His face is a mask of indifference, but his eyes are apprehensive and watching her intently.

She quickly nods and laughs shakily, not realizing until now she _was_ crying. He rolls his eyes, but there is a crooked grin on his face, reminding her of the boy he once was, as he wipes away her tears and holds her in his arms.

.(C).

It is not until a few days later that it dawns on Maka Evans _why_ he played for her.

A couple of years ago, she had told him of the time she read the letter her father wrote to her mother on the morning of their wedding. It was very sweet, especially considering _her father_ had written it. It spoke of how he loved her, wanted to be with her for the rest of his life, and was happy that he'd be able to see her face every morning.

Soul had quietly nodded his head, understanding that Maka wanted to talk, needed someone to listen. She knew this, and appreciated it, not knowing he would actually remember. He did.

But he wasn't good with writing words; she knew this from experience of seeing his essays as children. It would have just been so... _out of character_ for him. Instead he chose the one thing he could express, and it was something that connected them to their triumphs together.

She supposed, in a way, a song was similar to a speech: a note could be like a word, and a series of them made something like a sentence. Either way, they had strung together and made something beautiful.

In the end, he was himself, as he's always been. Yet, for him to show that kind of vulnerability... that was only for _her_.

And she loved him all the more for it.

.(E).

This fic was originally going to be totally different from what it turned out to be. However, I found out after writing a little bit of the first version that it was already taken. Turns out, of the five fics I've written so far (one is on here, one is in editing mode, and the other two I'm probably not going to post on here), this one is my favorite. I really enjoyed writing it 0)

I always imagined Soul sort of having a shy side when it came to the piano (maybe it's just me XD)...Oh! And I know that he and Maka are really young to be getting married, but I thought they were already financially stable enough (considering that they have an apartment at what, fourteen?) to get hitched XP. Anyway, hope you liked it. Please review!


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